HD 'Untouched' 9 in 13 Nights
by tigersilver
Summary: AU; EWE. Draco is again reminded that Harry could've been in Slytherin.


**Title:** Untouched  
**Author:** **tigersilver**  
**Characters:** Harry/Draco  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Warning(s):** Oral (?) sex?  
**Word Count:** 980

**Prompt: ** **hd_seasons** – 13 Nights of Smut, Prompt #9 (goose bumps; blow)

**Disclaimer:** All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Summary:** Draco is again reminded that Harry could've been Slytherin.

"What in the bloody Hades, Potter?"

Draco craned his neck to see, but there was only Potter's shaggy mane, bobbing and dipping, and obscuring his vision.

"What're you _doing_?" Draco shivered; his fair, fine skin was abruptly sporting goose bumps. "Potter?"

It felt like feathers—down, rather. The fluff from down, skin-warmed, in a chill winter morning. It was Potter, breathing…and it was driving Draco barmy.

"Ah, um," he gulped, and fluttered a hand in Potter's direction. "Pot—"

"Shhhh," Potter hushed, and continued to blow: warm gusts of air, likely still scented with supper, and all the while his lips never touched any part of Draco. Only hovered, like a reverse Hoover.

His nipples were so intensely scrunched up, they resembled nothing more than dried cherries. Every white-blond hair on his body, excepting only his scalp (and that prickled!) was standing on end with tension. His dick rose at full mast, red and angry, and still Potter only blew on him.

"I—really, Potter!" He was shocked. He'd had plenty of boys—and girls, too—lay hands on him. Lips and tongues and various and sundry other bits, as well, and all with passion and desire, slick and perspiring, heated and so on. "You can't just mean to do _that_—not all night!'

If Potter did (and this not bear thinking of), Draco would be mental in no time. He craved it—touch; what he was used to—and this was cruelty, refined to a science. Nothing more.

"Potter!"

Speaking of 'more', he wanted it. Now.

Draco shifted, his naked arse rolling across the discarded robes spread on the dust-infused upholstery of Potter's Transfigured sofa. It had been a desk, and would be again, when they departed. Now it was a vaguely lumpy and rather square-edged surface for shagging purposes...but they hadn't gotten round to the shagging bit yet, and Draco was beginning to wonder if ever they would. "It's late, damn it!" His voice rose up on a nearly soundless squeak, at the last. "Get on with it!"

How humiliating! Potter, the sod, a hairsbreadth away from having Draco Malfoy off with nothing more than the whisper of his stew-scented breath. A gust, a blow, a zephyr—only that.

"Pot-_ter_!" Draco was strident now—furious. This didn't happen; this wasn't allowed!

"Shush, now," Potter replied, not at all affected by the urgency that had Draco arching his back and jiggling his thighs. "Lay back so I can get at you, Malfoy. Relax."

"Potter, _do_ something, by Merlin. Do something right now! Bring me off!" Draco demanded, his eyes slits of steely hatred, and Potter did. He pursed those insulting lips of his as if he were going to whistle and blew a surgically accurate and very narrow path down the throbbing vein on the underside of Draco's staunchly erect cock. And then he drew back—just a millimeter or two, not far—and let loose a cloud of warm, humid air, bathing the glistening head of Draco's shaft in a fine veil of mist.

"P-Potter! Argh! _Potter_!"

It was last sodding straw—it broke him. Draco lifted his trembling hips and shot his load that instant: a gush of white gobs, beading into tiny, misshapen pearls across Potter's lips and lashes, fringe and scarred forehead.

"Potter!" Draco gasped, falling back, thumping his spine so hard down on the really horrid Transfiguration job it raised a cloud of dust. "Potter, how _could_ you!"

The other boy licked his lips, gathering stray semen. He brushed the back of a likely grubby hand—one that never even stroked Draco's cock once; not this whole time!—across his jaw and swiped himself clean, just as if he were a rather urchin-like facsimile of that bloody cat, Mrs. Norris.

And he fucking well laughed—tipped his dark head back far enough to make his Adam's apple jut out awkwardly and snickered, the sodding bastard! The gall!

"Dare, Draco," he managed, between little snorts and giggles. "Ron dared me—I had to. You understand, right? Had a new broom care kit riding on it, y'see."

"You fucking arsehole!" Draco roared…or would've, except for the post-coital aftereffects of having just cum like there was no tomorrow to be seen on the far horizon. "You little sod! I hate you!"

"Uh-huh," Potter sneered, but in a friendly manner, seemingly not bothered by this at all. "Of course you do, Draco. Tell me another."

"You—you sold me out for a broom care kit, Potter?" Draco echoed, appalled. His raised his brows, the only muscles he'd much control over, at the moment. "I can buy you ten of them tomorrow, you know that? It's hardly as if you even need it—"

"It was the principle of the thing, really," Potter replied chattily, and climbed up and around Draco, just like that damned cat of Filch's, stubbornly still alive and shedding. "Here, budge over, will you? I'm tired."

"_You're _tired!" Draco was still mildly outraged, though in a vague 'I've just cum like a fucking geyser and everything is nicely far away and dreamy' manner. "What about _me_, Potter?" he sputtered. "I'm the one you've just humiliated! You didn't even touch-you _owe_ me, you fuckwad! Pay _up_!"

"Gods, you are so tetchy, Draco," Potter remarked, grinning, and snagged Draco's obstinately firmed chin. He laid the tiniest of snogs across Draco's lips—again, like feathers—and pulled back before Draco could even pucker up. "You're not anywhere near ready for another round yet and you're already whinging for it, berk. Give over. I'll be on it in a moment, wanker; never fear."

"You'd better!" Draco snarled, though it was really more a sigh. "You just damned well better!" He laid himself back down from the tense curl he'd pulled his lean form into and sighed once more, making a huge business of it for show. Potter truly infuriated him, still.

Blasted prick. Too bad he'd already confessed he was…smitten. Would've been prudent to retain some leverage, as a Malfoy born and bred.

But then, that was Potter for you—conquering Hero and all that. Bloody steamroller.

But…very inventive.

Fin


End file.
